Promised
by Zem
Summary: Her father promised her he'd send her the angel of music... Ever wonder how the infamous promise came about? Well, maybe this doesn't exactly explain it, but its probably really sweet... Why not give it a try?


Author's Note: I'm not really sure if anyone reads Phantom of the Opera stories, but I'll put this up anyway. Just a quick not- I don't care if this isn't as CANON as you might like it to be. Another quick note- Let's just say… serious stories aren't my thing. That is, I've written them, but I've certainly never showed them to anyone since I don't think they're any good. Feel free to think otherwise!

Happy Reading! ~Zem

Disclaimer (which I'm apparently supposed to put in every chapter in every story. Who knew?): I don't own Christine or Daddy Daae. The thought of owning Phantom of the Opera is delicious... but a dream and nothing more...

Promised

"Christine, what on earth on you doing here now? There's a storm coming, you know. Don't want to get caught in it, now do you?" The baker chided the girl that stood before him. She merely smiled.

"We could stand here talking about it, or you could give me my bread and send me on my way." She teased. Of course, she wouldn't dream of taking such a tone with anyone but a close friend. Her father always insisted that when you first met some one, you should always be polite, then after that tease them all you want. Everyone in their village was very close, however.

"Of course, my dear. Let's see, you wanted two loaves, yes?" He reached into the cart he had been rolling inside and pulled out two loaves. 

"Thank you!" She said with a slight curtsey.

"Any time. Now get home, will you? I better not hear that my good bread got soaked before you got it there!" She laughed and set off at a run. Perhaps it was a bit foolish to have waited until now, but her father had taken ill lately, causing her to insist on taking care of him. He had been better today however, and if she didn't go then she'd be stuck inside from the storm. There was talk that it was going to last several days…

She already felt rain begin to patter down, just as the small cottage she and her father shared pulled into sight.  Not slowing down, she covered her burden hastily with her shawl- not much protection, but sufficient for a short while. It had already begun to pour as she reached the path. She ran even faster, ignoring the pain in her side that seemed threatening to explode at any second and burst through the door, as to announce her presence.

"I'm back, Papa!" She pushed against the wind to close the door. "Just before the worst of it, too. Good thing I—"She turned around and gasped. Her father was sprawled out on the floor. "Oh my God! Papa!" She dropped the bread, forgetting it entirely and rushed to his side, kneeling down. She shook his shoulder, hysterical. "Please, wake up, Papa! Please, wake up!" His eyes opened slowly, out of focus. Finally, he turned to look at his daughter who was biting her lip.

"Christine! There you are, child! Help me up, won't you?" He croaked. His voice was thin, but he was obviously trying to sound cheerful.  Christine, with some trouble, hoisted him up as best she could, but it was clear he wouldn't be able to stand on his own. She helped him to his bed, forcing him to lie down though he resisted. "I'm fine." He assured her. "Really. It has to be the humidity."

"No. You're ill, and I'm not letting you out of this bed until you're better." She stood over him defiantly, guarding to make sure he didn't try to get up. He sighed. 

"All right, fine." Then, after wincing suddenly, "I daresay that it will only be a little while…"

 "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Christine." He looked directly into her eyes, and she realized what he was talking about.

She shook her head vigorously. "No, no, Papa! You're just ill! You'll get better soon." But before her eyes the energy seemed to seep out of him, only to get caught up in a draft and blow away forever. 

"Christine… we've both known that this was going to happen soon."

"No. No we haven't!" She snapped. How could her father, her dear father simply leave her so quickly? It was impossible! He was just teasing her.

"Christine, look at me, will you?" She sniffed loudly, turning her nose to the air, refusing to oblige. He reached out and touched her arm lightly, such a soft and helpless gesture that she looked down- not towards her father, but to her feet only to burst into tears. He watched sadly, finally speaking up. "I'm old, child. Old and sick…" His words were of no consolation to his daughter. 

  
She shrieked, almost in hysterics,"No, Papa! You're not old! Sick, yes. You've been sick! Everyone gets sick! But never old, Papa! You'll never be old!" But despite her own words, she could not stop herself from crying further. Once again, the man could only lay there and watch his daughter weep on his behalf. It grieved him that she was unhappy- that was the last thing he wanted. But nature was taking its course, and there was no way to stop it. He could feel his energy leaving him- he didn't have that much longer. 

She knelt down on the floor so her head was almost level with his and whispered desperately, "Papa, please don't leave me here alone…" 

And for a brief moment, the familiar spark returned to his eyes. He smiled as he turned to her and said, "You won't be alone, child! You see, we're going to exchange promises…"

  
Christine laughed. Exchanging promises was something she and her father had done since as far back as she could remember. When she was young and stubborn, her father had made it up as a sort of trick to get her to be obedient. She would promise to go to bed early, and he would promise to buy her a treat from the baker. Simple enough. But what could he possibly promise now. Thinking of these memories could only make her sob harder. She'd never ever exchange promises with her father again!

His voice had begun to fade now, but he forced it out, still smiling, "Christine, you remember when I used to play by the fire every night before my arm got stiff? And the one time…"

She closed her eyes, remembering it, "I sat down beside you and hummed along…"

"Christine, you were born to sing, child! So here's what I want you to promise me." He stopped to take a deep, shaky breath. "Christine, promise me you won't keep that voice of yours to yourself. You need to get out of this little town, and show those big-shots that you're better than them!" A slight tear formed in his eye, as he imagined his daughter singing on a big stage in front of thousands of people all dressed up in their best, "London, Paris, Rome!" He sighed finally, the image gone. "Do you promise?"

She nodded. Her tears had slowed now, in their stead were fast, gasping breaths.

"Christine, child, don't fret!" He said, "Do you know what I'm going to do for you? Why, when I get to heaven, I'm gonna go lookin' around, you see. And I'm gonna find the Angel of Music. You remember from the stories? And he and I will chat a bit; maybe have a cup of tea…" He paused to allow her to laugh through her tears. "And then I'll say 'Angel? Could you do me a favor of sorts?' And he'll say 'Of course, anything.' And I'll say 'I want you to go down to earth, and find the most beautiful girl in the world. That's my daughter, you see. You'll find her, won't you?' And he'll say 'Of course' and set of to find you."

"Do you promise?" She whispered her tone a mere shadow of the jovial one she used to use on such occasions.

"I promise." He said sincerely. She reached her hand to shake his, the gesture that always followed an exchange of promises… but his didn't make it all the way.  She gave a cry and grasped his hand as it fell. 

"Oh, Papa! Please don't go yet! You can't go now!" 

"I'm here, I'm here…" But it was almost a whisper. "Christine…" He struggled to voice his request. "Sing for me, won't you?"

She smiled sadly down at him, trying to control her breathing though the tears were unstoppable. "Of course, Papa. "I'll always sing for you." And she began. It was the first song her father had ever taught her- a simple folk song about a goat and a lamb. He smiled peacefully, relaxing.

"I promise you, Christine..." He muttered as his eyes closed, "I promise."

She sat for hours, gripping his hand mostly in silence, though every once and a while the tune would once again escape her lips. She made no attempt to stop the tears that flowed swiftly down her cheeks. She looked down at her father, finding him barely recognizable without his teasing grin and never-ending energy. 

"I promise too, Papa." She said quietly. She finally stood up, and made her way to the window. Tearless now, she looked up to see the stars shining. The storm hadn't lasted after all. She didn't move for several hours, just stood watching the sky and waiting for her angel to come...


End file.
